The Surrender of Sibella
by Adamantwrites
Summary: "There's a Chinese proverb that states a new wife brought into the house is like a new horse in the stable; both should be mounted often and beaten regularly. Wise words. And although the saying refers to ancient attitudes, I think Sibella would have benefited from a sound thrashing on a regular basis—perhaps right before being mounted or during the act itself." Mature
1. Chapter 1

**All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **This story is for mature audiences only and contains adult language, adult situations and many references to, and semi-graphic descriptions of, sexual activity. Please keep in mind the time frame in which this story takes place (post Civil War) and that women had a different status in the world than men - inferior, on the whole. Don't blame me for history! ;-) The story is meant just as a fun read, so if you do read, please approach it in that frame of mind. And I don't expect it to be very long either.**

 **The Surrender of Sibella**

ONE

There's a Chinese proverb that states a new wife brought into the house is like a new horse in the stable; both should be mounted often and beaten regularly. Wise words. And although the saying refers to ancient attitudes, I think Sibella would have benefited from a sound thrashing on a regular basis—perhaps right before being mounted or during the act itself. Unfortunately, I never applied the advice, or my hand, early enough to avoid trouble; I should have listened to the sage advice given by those who lived centuries before me on how to keep a wife in line.

Marrying a woman much younger than I was something I would never have considered under usual circumstances - and a virgin to boot. I have to admit that the thought of tender flesh is always tempting, of delving deeply into the pink hidden parts of a lovely young thing, As one of my favorite poets once wrote, "License my roving hands, and let them go before, behind, between, above, below…How blest am I in this discovering thee!" My thoughts exactly but more poetically phrased; somehow it seems less lustful that way.

But to be honest, I actually preferred women my own age socially; there is something rewarding in talking with an intelligent woman who is knowledgeable and worldly as that alone makes a woman beautiful in my eyes. And as for an actual bedding, well, virgins never appealed to me. I have no patience with someone coy or reserved. Give me a woman who knows what to expect from a man and what he needs to secure his pleasure. And if she finds any delight in the sexual act, so much the better for both of us as I prefer an enthusiastic partner. That was why, since I kept a mistress for my physical needs but attended important social events with clever, intelligent, although not necessarily beautiful women, I never felt the need of a wife. Unfortunately, my father saw things differently and often asked if I was ever going to marry – and rid myself of Donna, the woman I kept in a fine suite in the Carson City Hotel.

My father and my brothers found the whole "mistress" situation embarrassing. I found it convenient. I didn't love Donna and if she loved me, she had yet to mention it. But she did enjoy me and I enjoyed her and we both enjoyed sex, so we were well-met for the situation. If she lay with other men, I never knew and didn't really care as long as she didn't infect me with the clap or syphilis. I had made clear to her that I would brook no health consequences. As Donna had been an 'actress', sadly not a particularly good one, forcing her to fall on her back many a time during her unheralded career just to get a part onstage, she knew the medical consequences of promiscuity. She had seen a few actors with their partially eaten-away syphilitic noses who were eventually reduced to street beggars, and once-lovely actresses with skin sores that spoke of advancing syphilis. I think it was fear of being back on the streets and probably having to turn to prostitution, that kept Donna 'monogamous' more than any great love for me. But she was happy with our agreement and so was I, although, as I said, should I find myself with a chancre on my cock, pain while I pissed, or my balls swollen to the size of a stud bull's, well, she was out on her ass.

It was an evening in June and I was packing to go on a business trip to San Francisco. It was after the war and the south was in the midst of rebuilding what we, that is the Union Army in which I had been a captain, had destroyed. I knew that during the war, a part of me had been destroyed as well, but I tried not to dwell on it. That would just lead to greater melancholia and the urge to unload a gun into my open mouth. As it was, I fought the urge to rid myself of the memories of the horrors of war and the many enemy corpses that haunted my sleep, by drinking and visiting Donna. But of late, I had found myself feeling dull and empty after one of our nights together no matter what she did to add a bit of variety, whether it be revealing lingerie or allowing me to use her as I chose for my pleasure. I found I wasn't even looking forward to our nights and began to visit Donna less and less. And like all women, she noticed and questioned me about it: Didn't I desire her anymore? I was inclined to be truthful and tell her, "Not really," but why start more trouble? Besides, she would want to discuss the matter, talk about what was wrong and how she could make things better, and that was the last thing I cared to do. So, since it is a ready excuse, I used work and being tired for my lack of enthusiasm. But being a woman afraid of losing her patron, I suppose, Donna would drop to her knees, deftly free my cock from my trousers, and please me with her mouth and highly talented tongue which was always pleasant and required no effort on my part. I didn't even need to undress.

But I digress. I was going to San Francisco to secure a ship to take our milled timber to New Orleans to be dispersed among the waiting contractors. Had it been antebellum, the orders would have been sent by rail but thanks to mile upon mile of "Sherman's neckties," track needed to be repaired or, in most cases, completely rebuilt, before anything could be sent via the railway.

Therefore, I looked at the trip to San Francisco as a nice diversion; not only would I be in new surroundings, but I would be absent while Joe, who was courting Miss Jessamyn Moritz, talked nonstop about wanting to marry her. Earlier on the evening I was to leave, I asked Joe if he had yet proposed and when he said no, I told him to ask and get it the fuck over with. Talking to us accomplished nothing – he should be talking to Jessamyn and then, her father. Joe was silent for once and Hoss and my father looked a bit taken aback. After all, my father's hopes of having grandchildren seemed to rest on his youngest progeny, my brother Joseph who was always as randy as a bull in spring. He did not want Joe discouraged.

So, as I said, I was packing when my father came into my room after first giving the obligatory knock on the open bedroom door before entering.

"You come to make sure I'm taking enough clean underclothes, Pa?" I was packing the freshly starched and folded dress shirts, courtesy of Hop Sing's Uncle Tan's laundry.

"Adam, I came up here to ask a favor."

"Oh? What?" That stopped my packing and I looked at my father who held a small paper-wrapped box. It was secured with packing twine.

"I was wondering if, on your way home, you'd stop and see an old friend of mine, Francis Atherton, in Sacramento City. You might remember him?"

"No, no, can't say I do."

"They stopped by, he and his wife Beatrice, on their way to Sacramento City where he had a job with the Overland Transit Company which was later bought by the railroad. I wired him you'd be in the area and I'd be pleased if you would visit and take this."

I found many of my father's friends interesting and they often shared stories about my father, some scandalous, some amusing, and some about acts of bravery or integrity. I related the stories to my brothers, much to their delight, and our father's embarrassment. All in all, my father was a humble man which made others admire him even more.

"Of course. I'd be glad too." I reached for the box and saw it was already addressed to Miss Sibella Atherton of Sacramento City, California. "Things so bad we have to save on postage?" I joked.

"No, I just thought as long as you were going to be in that area, that you could just take it. It's a little birthday gift for his daughter – Sibella. A necklace. A jade necklace. I don't know that she'll be knowledgeable about jade and thought you might inform her of its value in Chinese culture. You know how young girls put store in things like that, a little anecdote with each piece of jewelry."

"Oh. Mr. Atherton has a daughter?" My suspicions were aroused.

"Yes. Late in life he became a father. He and his wife, well, they wanted children but it seemed not to be in the cards. He used to bemoan the fact, you know, with my having three sons and all, and then, later in life, well, they had a daughter. She is, as the Bible says, the apple of his eye."

"Um, Pa, you don't have any designs for me and this young woman, do you?" I looked askance at his motives; my father was a crafty one and he was talking far too much.

"What?" He appeared shocked that I would even suggest such a thing. "Of course not, Adam. Why, she's…she's only turning 21. At her age, she's far more suited to Hoss than you."

"Maybe then you should send Hoss bearing gifts."

"No, no. Just drop it off at the Atherton's. There's a little card inside wishing her a happy birthday and such."

So, I agreed but was still suspicious; I believed my father had an ulterior motive and I wasn't wrong.

The next morning, I left for my trip, my family seeing me off on the stage. I quickly concluded my business in San Francisco and then took the stage for Sacramento.

Once in Sacramento, it wasn't difficult to find the Atherton house; it seemed the first person I asked knew where it was and since it was a beautiful day, I walked; I would take a room in the hotel later and catch the stage in the morning. I'd be home in a few days and perhaps, perhaps even stop first in Carson City to indulge myself with Donna's body.

The Atherton house was grand, three stories with dormered windows and a paved winding walkway and a huge green lawn surrounded by wrought iron fencing. Roses and various types of flowering plants and shrubs grew in beds and on the day I arrived, a Chinese gardener was working on them, pulling weeds and watering the plants. He vaguely smiled and nodded at me, then continued his work uprooting any encroaching weeds.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

TWO

Mrs. Atherton was thin-nosed, hollow-cheeked and exceedingly prim. Nevertheless, it was easy to see that in her youth she had been pretty and perhaps, to a man in love with her, even beautiful. I often make a game of looking at older people and imagining them younger, visualize their cheeks rounding, the softness returning to their eyes, to imagine them as young and impetuous. And sitting with the Athertons in their drawing room, sipping good coffee and eating thin, buttery sugar cookies, I endeavored to picture the Athertons as young, dewy-eyed, and in love - but failed. But when Sibella Atherton waltzed into the room in her straw boater and gray, high-necked suit, her hair severely pulled back into a chignon, she looked far more beautiful than her mother ever could have, even with the assistance of my over-active imagination which now began to imagine Sibella sans clothes. Lovely.

"Sibella, my dear," Mr. Atherton said, rising along with me, "let me introduce you to Mr. Adam Cartwright. Adam, my daughter Sibella," he said, glowing with obvious pride in his beautiful daughter.

"How do you do, Mr. Cartwright." Sibella put out her small gloved hand and I politely took it, gave it a shake and remained standing as manners required, noticing her lovely blue eyes – darker than Hoss' – more like the color of the depths of Lake Tahoe.

"Adam. Please call me Adam," I replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Sibella gave a half-hearted smile and released my hand as if it was something to be quickly discarded.

"Please sit down, Mr. Cartwright. Men standing when a woman enters is so passé, don't you think? So many ideas and rituals in our society promoting inequality between the sexes need to be dismissed. Don't you agree that they're all old-fashioned and designed for nothing more than keeping women subservient?"

I still stood. Sibella was not what I expected. "No, Miss Atherton, I don't." We could both be formal, both refuse to use Christian names.

Sibella looked at me and was about to say something else but her mother spoke.

"Sibella, don't be tiresome. Adam is a guest. Come sit down and have some coffee and cookies with us," Mrs. Atherton said, but Sibella proceeded to remove her hat and gloves in front of a large, rococo mirror, placing her items along with her small bag, on the large credenza under it. She touched her hair, smoothing back some disobedient strands and then smoothed the skirt of her suit. She was as vain as any other beautiful woman her age would be; that gave me some insight into her character.

"Perhaps later, mother. Alan and I had a late lunch. We argued over the party. He can't understand why I don't want one."

"Please, Sibella," Mr. Atherton said. "Adam came all the way from Nevada to bring you a gift."

Sibella turned about. "Oh? Is there no postal service in Nevada, Mr. Cartwright?"

I grinned, having retaken my seat; Sibella showed a sarcastic side and I found myself warming to her. "Yes, we have. And as gallant as my hand-delivering it sounds, I didn't travel all this way just to bring you a gift, although had I known of your loveliness, I would have crawled on my hands and knees across the desert to proffer this small token in remembrance of your birth. But I didn't. I am on my way back home from San Francisco and stopped here to deliver the gift in person – at my father's request. He thinks highly of your parents. To my knowledge, he's never met you."

Sibella blanched at the implied insult, and Mrs. Atherton's mouth dropped open at my obvious sarcasm but Mr. Atherton smiled and then cleared his throat.

"Sibella, my dear, I was just about to invite…" His daughter cut him off.

"Well, Mr. Cartwright, I don't quite know what to think; you bring gifts and then turn around and insult me!" Sibella pulled herself up to her full height – a tad more than five feet I guessed, minus the heels of her small, laced boots, and proceeded to look righteously offended.

"On the contrary," I said. "I have declared your loveliness and my willingness to suffer any discomfort on your behalf. I would hope you would be flattered. And on my father's behalf as well as my own, I hope you are pleased with your gift." It sounded innocuous enough but Sibella's arched brow said different.

"Perhaps I will sit and have coffee," Sibella said, and sat next to her mother on the rose-damasked sofa. Seemed that all women wanted a flowery sofa in their drawing rooms. Her mother poured and Sibella elegantly sipped at her coffee while giving me the side-eye. I think she was flattered by my attention. She made me smile.

"Won't you open your gift?" Mr. Atherton asked. The box sat on the coffee table beside the tea service.

"I suppose I should," she agreed. "Then I can quickly write the thank-you note and you can take it back with you, Mr. Cartwright. Seems you're playing postman on this trip." She smiled as if she had just one-upped me.

Sibella walked to the credenza, and using a small pair of shears from one of the drawers, clipped the twine and unfolded the brown paper. She opened the box and lifted out the necklace. It was a length of perfectly matched deep-green jade beads and hanging in the center was carved round disk. It was a singular flower.

"Oh, it's…lovely." Sibella was sincere in her admiration; I could tell by her face, by the softness of her mouth, the wideness of her eyes.

"Why, Sibella," her mother said, "bring it here, dear." Sibella did as her mother asked, sitting back down. Mrs. Atherton admired the neck, commenting that it was jade, wasn't it?"

"From the color," I said, "it's what's called Imperial jade."

"And what is the flower?" Mrs. Atherton asked, offering the necklace to me. I rose and looked at it. She placed it in my palm and added, "I don't recognize it."

I had seen many Chinese robes and paintings and learned much about Chinese culture, not only first-hand from Hop Sing and the many other Chinese acquaintances I had made, but from my own reading as well. "It's a peony. I believe the Chinese name for the flower means 'beautiful'." I handed it to Sibella who took it and blushed. Then she dropped it in her lap.

"It was kind of your father. I shall have to let him know how…grateful I am." She reached for her coffee and looked elsewhere than at me and the fine china cup rattled a bit on the saucer. Apparently, I had "rattled" Sibella as well.

"Sibella," Mr. Atherton said, "I was just about to suggest earlier that you invite Adam to your party tomorrow night."

"Oh... I plan on heading back in the morning," I said. "And I really should be going now." I glanced over at the grandfather clock that stood against the opposite wall. "I want to take a room at the hotel so I'm afraid I must give my leave." I rose from my chair and both Atherton's rose from their seats. Sibella continued to sip her coffee, apparently disinterested, at least that was what she hoped to convey.

"Oh, no, Adam," Mrs. Atherton said, "you must stay with us while you're here. I insist!"

"I don't care to put you out. The stage leaves quite early – I believe at 6:00 in the morning."

"Nonsense," Mr. Atherton said. "I would never let one of Ben's sons stay anywhere but here. We have more than enough room and hope that you will also stay for the party tomorrow night. Please, say you will."

I glanced at Sibella who now was fidgeting with her high collar as if she was overly warm.

"Sibella?" Mrs. Atherton said.

"Yes, mother?"

"Perhaps if you invited Adam…"

"But, of course. Won't you stay for the party, Mr. Cartwright? Another guest will prove no hardship, I assure you."

"With such a gracious invitation, how can I refuse." I made a half-hearted bow in Sibella's direction and then informed the Atherton's that I would accept their invitation to be their guest. They both seemed relieved and called for the butler, a man in his 60's, to take my valise upstairs. I asked for a tour of the grounds, mentioning how lovely they were, and Mr. Atherton jumped on the idea, taking me by the arm and leading me out the door. But before we left, I did beg my leave of Sibella who grandly nodded from the sofa. But my gut told me she wanted me to stay, if for nothing else than to proselytize about changing the role of women in society. I feared that if she did, I wouldn't be able to resist telling her that I liked nothing more than changing roles with a woman; let her be on top for a change and do all the work.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

THREE

The grounds were quite impressive, with a stable and attached corral that held two matched bays, a long-legged thoroughbred and a few other riding horses. There was also a wide buggy shed with two different buggies.

"That's Sibella's horse, Mr. Dandy. Cost me quite a pretty penny and she barely rides anymore." Mr. Atherton said. "Now she walks whenever she can – talks about exercise being good for the mind as well as the body."

I grinned thinking about Sibella's body; it wasn't as if I could help myself or even cared to. "Your daughter does have many progressive ideas."

"You mean stupid ideas."

"Not necessarily," I added. "The world is changing quickly. But if Sibella only knew how much luckier she is than women in other countries who are basically enslaved just for being female, well, she might rethink many of her ideas."

"All our fault for having her educated. Had we known that she would come home from school in France with all these opinions about marriage and the vote for women, well, we would have sent her to a convent school. Sibella has actually stated that the wife in a marriage is no better than a prostitute, trading her body for financial support."

I chuckled imagining how delighted Sibella must have been to have shocked everyone. I felt she was more interested in that than any sincerity of purported beliefs.

"Her poor mother was highly embarrassed – humiliated, actually. We had friends for dinner, another couple, and they almost choked on their food! They left as soon as they could, declining dessert and I'm afraid they told everyone about Sibella's blasphemy because I heard about it for months. Cigar?"

Mr. Atherton pulled out a silver cigar case and held it open. I thanked him and took one. He proffered a match and I lit mine while he did his. I puffed and felt the warmth through my veins – it was obviously a fine cigar.

"Very nice," I said, spinning it slightly between my fingers. The fragrant smoke rose up.

"They're Figurado cigars. I have them special ordered from New York; they're imported. But I am relegated to smoking them either outside, such as now, or in the privacy of my office and only if I open a window; my wife says the smell stays in her drapes and furniture and although she may not look it, Mrs. Atherton is quite the tyrant! I envy your father, living in a house full of men."

I laughed. "Yes, there is a certain freedom in not having a woman in the house. We can belch, fart and scratch our balls without offending anyone."

Now Mr. Atherton laughed. I found I liked him and we spent the next hour strolling around the property, smoking, and he told me about my father, how they had served together and how much he liked and admired him.

"Your father is one of the finest men I've known – and I mean that in all sincerity. We had struck up our friendship again about a year ago through letters. Of course, he invited us to visit the Ponderosa but with Sibella, well, we didn't want to leave her here alone – God knows what we'd find when we returned – and taking her along to a house with three young men, well…" He cleared his throat. "But I'm glad you've stopped by, Adam. Very glad."

My suspicions again arose. I wondered if he and my father had concocted a plot to marry Sibella off to me.

We reentered the house through the back room which was a solarium. Ferns, a grand rubber tree, and various other exotic blooming plants sat about in huge pots along with light furniture – what's called rattan – and the furniture was covered with flowered cushions. The room reminded me of an exotic island getaway and I admired the architectural aspects of the room, especially the design of the floor to ceiling windows. On a cold, winter day, one could bask in the warmth of the sun through the domed, paneled, glass ceiling and on a warm day such as that day, the wall of windows could be opened to provide a nice cross-breeze. I again, complimented him on his house and then went to my room, seeing no trace of Sibella. I took a short nap, woke just as it was becoming dark, and within an hour, dinner was served, giving me just enough time to put a fresh shirt on under my dress jacket.

It seemed there was another guest for dinner as well - Alan Pembroke, the Alan who hand lunched with Sibella. Mr. Atherton introduced us and as we shook hands, Mrs. Atherton chimed in, "Alan is Sibella's beau." She seemed pleased at the prospect, smiling.

"Oh," I said. He seemed an affable young man, about Joe's age, slender and slightly effeminate in looks and manner, with pale cheeks, almost white-blond hair that fell into his large, dark, soulful eyes. His hands were also slim and elegant and it was obvious he did no physical labor. He was impeccably dressed. "So, you're Sibella's eager swain and she's your fair maid," I said, smiling.

"What? No…I mean, yes. I suppose one could say…" Alan Pembroke seemed flustered and he pulled his hand from me and then held it with the other as if it were now a prized possession. He looked at me as if he was suddenly infatuated.

I had seen that look before. In college, there was an underclassman, Louis, who followed me about one semester, complimenting me on my brilliance, and asking me to his room to discuss Greek poetry – he claimed I had greater insight than anyone else. So, one evening, out of curiosity, I took him up on his invitation and once in his room, he served coffee and a tin of shortbread biscuits. Then he brought out a volume of Greek poetry and raised the ancient ideal of men's beauty as the only measure of true beauty – and that love between men was the only true love. "Why look at Alexander, the man who conquered the whole world," I remember him saying, his eyes glowing with excitement. "And who did he love more than that conquered world but his friend, Hephaestion, 'two souls in one body,' as Aristotle described them. And that magnificent warrior, Alexander, loved both men and women, saw beauty in both but loved men best. Oh, Adam, let me be your eromenos!" Louis fell at my feet, calling me his "Adonis," his "Alexander," and said that his body was mine to use as I pleased. I was a bit taken aback. And I was tempted – I could imagine the feel of his hot lips around my length and his hands stroking me, the pressure of his tongue driving me to release – but it wouldn't have been fair to him as I had no particular affection for him. Perhaps another place or another time but not then, so I rose and explained that although I was flattered, I could not accept his offer for a friendship of that type. I left his room and the next day, he was gone, had left school and never returned.

I sensed that Alan Pembroke may also be so inclined. But it was possible I was wrong.

"Oh, mother, Sibella said, walking into the room, "why do you say such silly things? Beau – as if that word was even employed anymore! Beau!" Sibella practically spat the word. "Alan is a friend. People still think that any female not married by 16 is an old maid and that every man she is with is a prospective spouse. All women are though of as nothing more than a uterus for producing children! Marriage is an old, outdated convention and I assure you, mother, that I have greater ambitions than that."

"Sibella! Please. We have guests. Can't you please refrain from talking like that for one night? Now let's do sit down and forget such foolishness."

"If you insist mother but that means you mustn't say anything foolish either." She smiled, pleased with herself.

Sibella was dressed for dinner far differently than that afternoon. Her hair was piled up and held with elegant tortoiseshell combs that almost matched her hair and her apple green dress was cut low. And she wore the jade necklace. I smiled when I saw her; I knew she had carefully chosen her wardrobe to showcase the necklace – and her rounded bosom.

I held out Sibella's chair since Pembroke seemed too entranced to do so; he watched me with embarrassing admiration only I didn't know which of us should be embarrassed. Nevertheless, as I bent over Sibella's chair, assisting her, I murmured how lovely the jade looked against her bare skin. She glanced up at me from under her dark lashes but said nothing even though I'm certain she noticed my gaze was focused more on her cleavage. But then, that may have been what she had planned and I wondered if I was rife for manipulation. After all, Sibella was lovely and surprisingly desirable; her perfume was one of musk mixed with white flowers. It made me think of the moist, musky cleft between her legs and what she would taste like on my tongue. She made my mouth water.

Through dinner, I noticed Sibella would glance across the table at me but that when I returned her gaze, she would look away. But I was too old for games of flirtation and coy behavior. And surprisingly, Sibella said little at dinner.

Mr. Atherton explained to Alan that I was from Nevada and had been educated as an architect back east. Alan became animated – no longer the shy, shrinking, young "beau", and asked me questions about what I had studied in college, about my year in Europe studying the cathedrals and bridges, and my visits to museums and the masterpieces I had seen. He hung on my every word and said that he had been unable to visit Europe due to the war but so wanted to go and that listening to me was like visiting them himself.

Sibella seemed bored that she was no longer the center of attention. And when Mr. Atherton mentioned that I had been in the Union Army during the war, Alan wanted me to talk about it.

"Oh, please, Adam," Alan begged, "what is it like to be at war? I was too…my father wouldn't allow me to join but I so wanted to! I threatened to run off and join the army – I was such a supporter of Lincoln and his ideals. What a tragedy he was murdered – assassinated. And by John Wilkes, Edwin Booth's brother. Such a scandal. But what is war like?"

"I don't care to discuss it – it's not really dinner conversation." How could I talk about the filth of battlefields, the smell of unwashed bodies and rotting corpses, not just of men who couldn't be buried but of mules and horses that decayed in the sun? I couldn't even try to convey the fear that turns a man's bowels to water, the horror of seeing men's guts blown apart and finding a single arm lying in the mud, ripped from an unknown body.

"You must have been a hero, though," Alan said, his eyes glittering.

"No, no hero. I came out alive."

A pall fell and I realized that I had caused it with my comment, perhaps reminding them of men - friends or sons of friends who hadn't returned home. And it was Sibella who changed the mood by asking if I believed in free love. I laughed. I had to – no other reaction was possible except for me to say that I had been with enough whores to know there was no such thing as free love. I was also sure Sibella, was talking about something of which she knew nothing.

I would have to challenge her on her idea of "free love" but this wasn't the time or the place. Her father asked her to please refrain from such talk in his house; he would not have it. And then, since dinner was over with such a pronouncement, he and I retired to his office for cigars and brandy, leaving Alan behind.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

FOUR

"Adam, please. Take a few cigars for later. Please." Mr. Atherton held the cigar box open in front of me.

I declined, but he insisted so I finally took out two more and slipped them in my jacket's inside pocket, thanking him. It seemed to ease his sense of guilt – I was sure it was guilt that had made him share his best Jamaican rum and foist expensive cigars onto me.

I sipped the rum and marveled at its taste. "I've never tasted anything like this – it's…is it any special rum, like the cigars?"

We were in his office, sitting in two very comfortable leather chairs, a fireplace between us warming the coolness of evening. Imported rugs from Asia lay on the polished wood floor and a few bronzes decorated the shelves along with sprinkling of books. The walls were paneled with what I was sure, was black oak found in northern California – very expensive. The liquor cabinet was prominent with the sparkling cut-crystal decanters and glasses along with the bottles of whiskey, brandy and rum. I imagine Atherton spent much time alone there, avoiding his wife.

Atherton held the glass up, letting the light from the fireplace highlight the deep golden color. "Appleton rum – Appleton Estate Reserve-Jamaican. A nice diversion from sophisticated brandy or distilled whiskey, isn't it?" He grinned at me.

"Yes, it certainly is." I sipped it again. "Strong, that's for sure. But very nice."

"If only I could find limes to add, it would be perfect. I first tasted rum of this type when your father and I were sailing those waters – after our military service, of course. I tasted rum and fell in love with it, but your father fell in love with, well, never mind.

"Early in the war, I couldn't get any but some of the blockade runners who couldn't get through to the south, well, they would deliver to California and I found a few bottles. It's still difficult to get but it's getting easier now that…. Let me give you a bottle to take home to your father. I'm sure he'll enjoy it and maybe tell you about our time in the Carribean."

"My father doesn't discuss that time and I never even knew he was in Jamaica or even in that area. And you've intrigued me. What did my father fall in love with?" For some reason, it made me uneasy to think of my father having secrets. But then, I did as well as I'm sure everyone does – things we hope will never be revealed.

"Not what, but who. But I shouldn't have said anything. It's not my story to tell." Mr. Atherton looked down at his glass as he swirled the rum. "One day, maybe he'll tell you about that time, about the mixed-race shop girl – very sad. And then there was the plantation owner's daughter. There's quite a story behind that and you might very well have been raised on a sugar cane plantation instead of a cattle ranch in Nevada." He raised his glass slightly as if in a toast. "To your father's health," and drained it. Then he rose and poured himself another glass.

I watched him closely; there was something he wanted to tell me and it wasn't the story about my father and his youthful indiscretions; Francis Atherton wouldn't reveal details about such a matter. But I reminded myself to ask my father about the "shop girl" the next time he criticized my decisions regarding women.

"I've been writing to your father now for quite a while. I had hoped that once Sibella was safely home from school, she would marry a fine young man and become a wife and mother, you know, be happy, what all parents hope for. I would, of course, provide any financial assistance to anyone she chose – a dowry of sorts - but she runs them all ragged and eventually, I think from sheer exhaustion, abandon any hope of winning her. Sibella says they just want her money – my money – but I don't think so. But no man has lasts too long with Sibella; she beats them down, manages to intimidate them all."

I grinned at the thought of her. "She is quite…set in her beliefs. If she truly does believe in them. I think part of her espoused philosophy is just for shock-value."

"Strong and determined and down-right hard-headed, she is. She's going to be 21 and although it doesn't seem to trouble her, she's a spinster. Her mother says she believes it does bother Sibella, but that may just be her mother's feelings projected onto Sibella. I just don't know what to make of things. Do you believe her mother even thinks, hopes, that Sibella might marry Alan? My fear is that she will marry him. What a debacle that would be."

I sipped my rum, not commenting, and then took a pull on my cigar, leisurely releasing the smoke. The window behind me was partially open and the evening breeze swirled the smoke about as if it was the genie released from its bottle in the Arabian tale.

"And you remembered my father had three sons," I said with a smile.

He chuckled a little. "Yes. Who better for my daughter than a hard-headed Cartwright. Your father thinks it's time you married and, well, if you would marry Sibella…Adam, I'd make it worth it to you. I'd give you a draft for a wedding present that would buy you the state of Montana."

"The offer is beyond any dreams of avarice," I said, "but I have no desire to own Montana."

"But you have to admit that Sibella is lovely and could, under the right handling, become a fine wife. Oh, and I can ensure a job with the railroad where you'd only have to show up once a week and still draw a huge paycheck. All you'd have to do is marry Sibella and give us grandchildren."

"Mr. Atherton, Sibella is not just lovely, she's beautiful as well as intelligent, and when she chooses to be, charming. You don't need to buy her a husband; she has her own charms to win one. Besides, Sibella would have to give consent to be married and she's certainly not in love with me nor I with her."

"Love." He looked down and sighed. "Love is so unimportant when it comes to marriage."

"I think it's most important."

He looked directly at me. "Have you never been in love, Adam?"

I paused, thinking about the many times I thought I had been in love, was sure I had been. "Yes, I've been in love."

"But you've never married. Why not?"

I gave a self-conscious laugh. "Nothing seemed to work out; the circumstances weren't right."

"But you're in a long-term relationship with a woman now, correct?"

"So, I see my father is telling tales out of school. Yes, I have a mistress and no, love isn't involved."

He leaned forward in his chair, his face animated. "See, Adam, that's the way a marriage should be. No one becomes hurt if an affair takes place as long as it is discreet. A person knows what is expected of them in a relationship without love. One only needs to respect and care for the person they marry, to want to shield them from any harm."

"Sibella deserves better than that, don't you think? Doesn't she deserve a man who adores her?"

"Adoration doesn't last – but mutual respect, a friendship of sorts, does last."

"I can't agree with you, Mr. Atherton. My father was married three times and each time, it was for love. I witnessed two of his marriages and…"

"And both wives, sadly, died young, died long before love and passion became mere amity. But If one begins a marriage with amity, it can only become stronger. Harmony and goodwill, that's what…"

A knock on the door interrupted us and it was opened by Sibella who stood looking more beautiful than earlier. I had forgotten how lovely she was and seeing her was like being struck in the face. I felt myself become aroused at the thought of marrying her and bedding her. What would she be like? Would she be silent and endure my thrusting or would she cry out at our coupling, participate with unabashed desire for more?

"Alan is leaving, father," she said. Alan Pembroke stepped into the room as well.

"Well," Mr. Atherton said, rising, "goodnight, son. You're always welcome in our home and we'll see you tomorrow night, yes?"

"Yes, and…" Alan stepped closer to me and I stood up as well. "You will be there tomorrow night, won't you, Adam?" He was almost breathless, his cheeks flushed.

"Yes, I was persuaded to stay." I put down my cigar, balancing it on the ashtray and extended my hand. He took it and placed his other hand on it.

"Oh, I'm so glad. I would like to talk with you more about…well, actually anything." He smiled and a lock of blond hair fell into his eyes. He released my hand and brushed it aside. I noticed Sibella had a knowing smile as she watched us. Alan slowly backed out, smiling. "Well, goodnight, Adam…Mr. Atherton. Until tomorrow."

They left and Mr. Atherton retook his seat and I took mine.

He shook his head. "Can you see my daughter marrying him?"

"You said amity is most important in a marriage and Sibella does seem to like him, and he, her."

"I should know better than to argue with you, Adam. Sibella is just as deft at throwing my own words back in my face. Now between the two of you, I'd like to see who comes out the victor."

And I was picturing the same thing, Sibella and I tussling on a bed, seeing who would control our coupling, who would be on top, who would ride whom. And I could picture Sibella, standing wide-legged with a riding crop in one hand while wearing knee-high riding boots - and nothing else. Quite the spicy image - tinder for a beginning passion.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

Mr. Atherton was correct when he told me the house would be in an uproar preparing for the party. He said that Sibella and her mother would argue over every detail, the cook would threaten to quit every five minutes, and the maids would be running for cover if they didn't follow instructions exactly or left any smudge of silver polish on the flatware or silver coffee service.

As far as himself, Mr. Atherton said that he usually hid in his office all day, only coming out to relieve himself or grab a little something from the kitchen. Thank goodness, he said, the cook had a soft spot for him (thanks to a generous Christmas bonus every year) and always squirreled away a few sandwiches so he wouldn't starve. I was invited to join him in his hibernation but I declined, choosing instead to cash a draft and spend the long afternoon gambling in one of the better gambling parlors in Sacramento City.

I had a pleasant afternoon playing poker – I stay away from games such as faro where I have no control - and won a little over twice as much as my original stake. I had a light dinner in a restaurant downtown, observing the coming and goings of other diners while I finished my coffee. By then, darkness was coming on and I headed back to the Athertons' to change clothes for the party. I found my suit had been brushed and pressed and my shoes shined and waiting. I could get used to such.

The main room of the house along with the dining room were decorated with every Chinese lantern within ten miles, I'm sure. It was grand, much grander than any party at the Ponderosa but then we didn't have the delicate woman's hand to guide us on how to hang the garlands or arrange the vases of flowers. And since I joined the party later than the other guests, choosing to lay back and think on my plans to leave on the morrow before I dressed, having also checked the stageline schedule while I was in town, the house was filled with lovely young women all dressed in their ruffles and lace, smiles on their sweet faces – but then all women that young are lovely, merely because they are young and haven't yet been affected by the burdens of life. There were also many young men, all younger than I, in their dress coats and striped pants, dancing or eating or plying their charms on the girls around them. I remembered when I was that young and felt nostalgic for those day which surprised me; I never thought about the past as nothing can be changed and there I was, remembering when the world seemed new and fresh.

Mr. Atherton waved me over.

"I have a flask of bourbon – if you get your punch, I'll spike it for you," he said leaning in conspiratorially.

"If you don't mind." I said, "and tell me if you do – I'd rather have another glass of that Appleton rum."

"Oh, Adam, if only you'd marry Sibella. I couldn't want more in a son-in-law. You appreciate the better things in life – like a room of one's own and good rum. Let's go have a glass – perhaps a cigar." He pulled one out of his pocket and handed it to me.

We were about to turn and leave when Sibella came over and took my arm. "Oh, Adam, you're leaving my party already? I know my father hides in his office to avoid such gatherings but you're surely not as disinterested as he!"

"Being disinterested in a party and disinterested in you are two very different things," I said to her and she glanced up at me, a half-smile on her face. And then I heard the music start and the guests, laughing and talking, went into the great room where the larger pieces of furniture had been removed and the lesser pieces, relegated to the wall. The scent of white flowers filled the room – or it was just Sibella – and a chandelier lit the room and the dancers underneath it.

Sibella led me over to a group pf her friends and introduced me. One of the young women, a very lovely young woman – Brenda - asked me to dance. No sooner did one dance end than I had another partner. I knew better than to flatter myself by thinking it was because I was light on my feet. I'm merely competent on the dance floor, and I had the suspicion that Sibella may have told her friends about me. What it might be, I had no idea but she watched me as she swirled about on the dance floor, a half-smile on her face. And finally, she came to me.

"Come dance with me, Adam. You see how nice I've become? I asked, not demanded."

"You can demand anything of me and it would be a pleasure to obey," I said, leading her out on the dance floor. She moved easily and I wondered how easily she could be led off the dance floor as well.

The dance ended and as we applauded the musicians. Sibella slipped her arm through mine and said, "Let's go outside, Adam. The heat and noise is becoming too much – I need some cool air." So, as we headed for the exit, I felt another hand touch my arm, but it was less insistent. I turned, and saw Alan.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to you yet – you've been dancing so much - but I was hoping that we could discuss the army. I think I'd like to join. My parents want to keep me sheltered and I…" Alan glanced at Sibella. "That is if you don't mind, Sibella."

"I promise to bring Adam back shortly," she said to a disappointed Alan, and with her arm more firmly through mine, we continued out through the solarium which was lit by multiple lamps making that room even more pleasant. Many of the windows were open and I would have been content to stay there but Sibella guided me out to the back. I only mention the conditions of the solarium because it's important to the following events.

"It is lovely out here at night, don't you think, Adam?" Sibella stepped away from me and did a turn on the grass, her skirts floating out about her. "I am so tired of dancing inside – we should have held the dance outside, on the lawn."

I searched my mind to remember the lines of a poem; "I said to the lily, 'There is but one with whom she has heart to be gay. When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance and play'."

She smiled and gave a small laugh. "What poem is that from, Adam? I don't think I've ever heard it." She swayed closer to me.

"A poem by Tennyson. There are a few more lines that seem fitting – "She is coming, my own, my sweet; were it ever so airy a tread, my heart would hear her and beat, were it earth in an earthy bed."

"What's it about, the poem?"

"A man who's waiting in the garden for the woman he loves." I watched her closely; Sibella was being too nice.

"Oh, I see. I've never had a man recite poetry to me before."

"That's hardly reciting it. Those are just a few lines I remember – there are quite a few more I don't."

Sibella shivered and put her arms about herself as she stepped closer. "It's a bit chilly. Would you put your arms about me? I'm sure I'll stay warm then, and perhaps, well, if I asked you to kiss me, Adam, if I…" She turned her face up, her lips parted, her eyes closing in anticipation.

I laughed – I couldn't help myself - and her eyes flew open. "Are you flirting with me, Sibella? Trying to seduce me?" I grinned down at her. "I would've expected better from you than leading questions and moist lips."

"What do you mean – better from me? I know why you're here - to marry me. My father's convinced my mother of it as well. They think I need a strong hand."

"And you, Sibella, what do you think?" I couldn't help but smile at her and her pursed mouth and furrowed brow; apparently, I had spoiled her game.

"I…I think…well, I don't care to be married!" She stood up straight and her jaw jutted upward.

"Then we both agree on something; I don't care to be married either – or I would be by now. But, Sibella, that doesn't mean we can't kiss…or more. After all, aren't you forward-thinking? Didn't I hear you espouse that marriage is out-of-date and that free love, sex without emotional consequences is the wave of the future?" I reached for her and wrapped one arm about her small waist, pulling her closer. She resisted. "Surely you believe in mutual pleasure and I think I might find it pleasurable to kiss you – but I'll never know until…" I embraced her and bent her over my arm, first running my lips up her pale, white throat and then took her mouth. She yielded and her lips softened and parted and her small arms went about my neck. It was pleasurable and she turned liquid in my arms, all resistance gone. I think I could have taken her in the grass, just pushed up her skirts and had her but I'm not that much of a cad. This was a game and I wanted to win – not destroy.

Then I released her and she stumbled slightly; I grabbed her arm and pulled her to me again. "I did enjoy that," I said, grinning at her wide-eyed look. I waited but Sibella, her breathing uneven, said nothing. Then she pulled away. At first, I thought she was going to return to the house, but then she swung about again.

I leaned against a tree while she stood, thinking what she was going to say, her bosom heaving. She made a delectable picture and I enjoying seeing this passionate side of Sibella, even if the passion was anger.

"You think you're quite the man, don't you," she sneered. "Well, I've kissed many a man and I've been the aggressor. What do you think of that?"

I smiled, considering if I should kiss her again. The moonlight made Sibella's pale skin luminous, and her blue eyes, darker. Or maybe it was her anger that did it.

"I think you've only met men who find you intimidating and are willing to dance to your tune no matter how ridiculous."

"Oh, really? Well, that just shows how little you know."

I had to laugh again.

"And what's so funny?"

"Oh, Sibella, you're so young and yet by your age, most women are wedded and bedded and a mother."

"You're right, and I don't want to be?"

"What? Wedded, bedded or the mother part?"

"Oh, you're infuriating! You think you're so clever and know everything – so smug!"

"Then why is it, Sibella, that none of those young men in the other room are out here with you but I am? You're beautiful, intelligent, your father's wealthy…why aren't any of them courting you, trying to corner you and steal some kisses, whispering in your ear what they'd like to do with you?" I approached her. She took a step back. "Why aren't any of those men making your pulse race by running their hands over you? Do you discourage them? Are you afraid, Sibella? Is that why you have Alan constantly at your side – to discourage suitors and ensure your chastity?"

"How dare you say such things to me? To me? And as far as Alan…well, he's quite taken with you, you know. I think he sees something in you that…." She became silent.

"Go on, Sibella. Finish what you were going to say."

"No. It was going to be a lie…and hurtful to Alan. If it was going to hurt just you, I might say it –and with pleasure. But Alan, he's such a kind, gentle…but he does admire you, Adam. I think he may even be in love with you."

"And?"

"And nothing! I imagine you're used to all sorts of people being in love with you, aren't you, Adam? Both men and women. Do even the cattle follow your lead as if you're some pied piper? Is that how you herd them?"

"Actually, I play the guitar, serenade them, and they follow, mooing along in tune." Sibella was trying very hard to insult me but it was like fighting with a child; one just has to put out one's hand to stay them and no matter how they swat and swing, they never land a punch.

"OH!" Sibella stomped one small foot, her hands in fists. "I'm going back in where I can have some civilized conversation. Aren't you going to come in and charm those you haven't yet met? There must be at least one or two. Or maybe you want to work on charming one of the upstairs maids? When Sara comes to turn down your bed, maybe you can turn her upside down!"

I laughed even more. "Oh, Sibella, you really are a piece of work. No, I think I'll just take a turn about the property and smoke a cigar. The lawn is lovelier by moonlight – just as you are. Things are so different in the cold light of day, aren't they? All the flaws are exposed."

She huffed and turned and stomped her way back to the house and into the solarium. I decided I would save my cigar to accompany the rum. I returned to the house but halfway there, I saw that Alan had been waiting for Sibella. She stopped short when she saw him and although they couldn't see me, I could see them, see Alan's face – and Sibella's. Through the open windows, their voices drifted outside to where I stood, wondering if I should stay and listen or make my presence known. I decided to listen. I might learn a thing or two, hopefully about Sibella. She had begun to intrigue me and although her father's wealth held no draw for me, Sibella did.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_**Just a little note to "Nancy" - guest reviewers can't be replied to via Pm but I did want to thank you for your reviews and comments. So glad you're enjoying this story** **and any others that you may be reading or have read. Much appreciated. :-)**_

 **SIX**

"I saw you, Sibella, so don't lie! You kissed him!"

I was surprised to hear how upset Alan was but then I found out why.

"What if I did! You act as if I betrayed you. And keep your voice down." Sibella glanced about. "He's walking around the grounds and might hear us. If you smell cigar smoke…"

"I hope he does hear us! How could you, Sibella, knowing that I want to …you told me you were going to see if he had an interest in me. You lied to me, Sibella! You only want him for yourself."

"Alan, it wouldn't matter if I did want him – he doesn't want me."

"Then he is interested in me? Oh, Sibella, tell me everything!"

"Oh, Alan, it's not that way at all. Trust me, Adam Cartwright is not that way." Sibella was exasperated and pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. In the light I could see how flushed she was.

"How do you know? Maybe he could be interested in me."

"No, he couldn't and even if he did decide to give you a…,it would only be out of amusement or a moment's pleasure…Oh, Alan, save yourself a broken heart and don't hold out any hope." Sibella held her shirts up slightly and tried to slip around Alan, but he spun and grabbed her arm.

"How do you know, Sibella, that he would have no interest in a relationship with me? Is it that you want him?"

"Oh, Alan! Why do you want me to hurt you? You and I have been friends our whole lives and I would never intentionally hurt you. Please."

"If you're my friend, then tell me the truth. How do you know he would never want me?"

"I know he could never be in 'love' with you because I felt him against me while he was kissing me, and trust me, a man who gets that way… you know…"

"Oh, Sibella, now you become shy?" Alan said. "You always enjoy shocking everyone with blunt language but now that it has to do with him, you turn proper all of a sudden!"

Sibella pursed her lips and after taking a deep breath, leaned into Alan and I barely heard what she said – but I did hear and I had to smile at Sibella's knowledge of rough, crude terms. "Any man who gets that hard when he's holding and kissing a woman, he's not interested in anyone who has a…cock. Trust me, Alan. All he wanted to do was fuck me and it wasn't out of love.

"Please, Alan, take my advice as a friend who truly loves you - go back to town, find Lyle and apologize. Tell him that you were temporarily distracted, dazzled by a handsome, worldly, rogue from Nevada. He'll understand."

Sibella started to go, Alan following her, but he reached for her arm again and they stopped and he smiled. "I thought you were going to have him groveling at your feet, Sibella? You said you would."

"So, I was wrong."

Alan laughed. "Oh, Sibella. Losing your touch? Maybe you should have tugged the shoulders of your dress down or cupped his balls and squeezed a bit. I've told you so many times what men like and I just can't understand why you don't take my advice. If I can't have Adam, you may as well You could have brought him to his knees right in front of you, Sibella, and had him licking your feet, begging for relief."

"Alan, I…he was just so frustrating, laughing at me as if I was a child…"

"Sibella, if you're ever going to be the dominant one in a relationship with a man, not a wishy-washy, docile, slapped-around wife like you fear, or even a used-up mistress, you have to apply what I've told you. And give up your damned cherry, for heaven's sake! He would be the one to do it – just pop, ouch - and your virginity's gone! One less thing to worry about and from then on, it would just be fun and pleasure!"

"Alan!" Sibella was shocked and then, I almost laughed out loud when she added, "Do you really think so?"

"Oh, yes! And then you can tell me all about the exquisite pain of defloration and those arms of his – oh, just to think of him naked and so beautiful, long and hard and dripping - it'll be almost as good as being fucked by him myself!"

"Alan! Really!" Sibella giggled. "What should I do next since he…"

Mrs. Atherton stepped into the solarium. "Sibella! I've been looking for you. And you too, Alan. Time to cut the cake and open the gifts. Everyone's waiting. But I hope you two had a nice walk in the garden – so romantic under that lovely moon. Alan, may I take your other arm?"

"I would be honored."

I watched as Sibella and her mother, one on each side of Alan, entered the house. Sounds came from the revelers inside. At least I knew now where I stood with Sibella. Despite her brash persona, she was still a frightened virgin. I felt a little guilty having the upper hand with my eavesdropping, and decided I wouldn't take advantage of Sibella's obvious vulnerability. But it was pleasurable to think of having my way with her – very pleasurable.

But I had heard enough and as intriguing and attractive as Sibella was, I had no desire to be part of the little game she was playing. But I begrudgingly admitted to myself that Sibella was kinder than I had thought. Perhaps I had judged her too harshly but there was no doubt she was spoilt. But let her conquer all the other men – I wanted a glass of rum. So, I walked through the solarium and followed the noise to the large dining room. I would have to pass through it to make my way to Mr. Atherton's office. But glancing, I saw he stood in front of the well-wishers, right next to his daughter, her mother on her other side. So, I stood and watched and waited. I couldn't very well enter Mr. Atherton's office without his permission.

Sibella stood in the center of clapping well-wishers as it appeared she had just finished blowing out the candles on a multi-tiered cake, smoke still rising. A pile of presents sat at one end of the long table and platters of food sat at the other end. It looked to be quite the party spread. More food sat on other long cloth-covered tables.

I stood against one wall and watched as Sibella first opened the present from her parents, a lengthy string of pearls – obviously expensive. There were "oohs" of appreciation from the crowd and I noticed that a few older couples, friends of the Atherton's, I'm sure, stood on the perimeter of the crowd, nodding to one another and some of the women put their heads together. Mr. Atherton smiled with fatherly pride as Sibella slipped the long rope of pearls around her lovely neck and wound it three times. And as she looked out at the adoring faces of friends, her eyes met mine. I nodded in acknowledgement and her smile dropped for a millisecond, and then she looked elsewhere; her mouth smiled but her eyes no longer did. And surprisingly, I felt a pang of guilt.

Had I been cruel to Sibella, toyed with a defenseless young woman? Despite her plans for me, as revealed by her conversation with Alan, had she really stood a chance? Although she had been educated in France, obviously she had been sheltered even there. It seemed though, that Alan offered her an experienced education in men, how to control one – at least sexually. But it seemed that I was her first unsuccessful conquest as she had, at least according to something her father said earlier that day, won the hearts of and then ended up rejecting many marriage proposals. I don't think it was out of cruelty or a need to conquer and destroy, but out of fear of what her life would be like – the wishy-washy, docile wife. I told myself I would be kinder to her. Yes, kinder. Besides, I was leaving tomorrow anyway.

I left the party and went to my room, pulling my tie loose as I climbed the carpeted stairs—a flowered carpet. The bed had been turned down, the bedside lamp was on and a bottle of rum, a crystal whiskey glass and two cigars with a glass ashtray sat on the nightstand. On the bed was a copy of Thackery's _The Book of Snobs_. I flipped through it. saw it was a compilation of satirical articles, and read the introduction – they had been written for _Punch_ magazine and skewered the British aristocratic class. It seemed perfect timing - a book about people and their facades. I stripped myself of all the confining clothes of "snobbery" and made myself comfortable between the cool linen sheets, propping myself up with the pillows and had a pleasant evening reading, smoking a good cigar and sipping rum– eventually falling asleep. Until a knock on my bedroom door woke me.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

SEVEN

I slipped on my robe and tied the waist cord. "Yes?"

"It's me, Adam – Sibella."

"Well, this is a bit of a surprise," I said after opening the door. I'd expected that if someone knocked on my door late at night, it would be Sara, the upstairs maid. She wasn't a particularly pretty woman but she did have a full bosom and wide hips and had twice brushed up against me, looking sideways at me both times. I was tempted to give her a quick tumble, to feel the heat of her cunt and to pillow my head on those ample breasts, but I was a guest in the Atherton home and so declined to insult my host by fucking his staff. Manners can be quite the joy-kill.

But it was lovely Sibella, standing before me in a white silk nightshift and a yellow satin robe. The dressing gown fell open enough to show the outline of her firm breasts under the thin fabric. She knew I would notice, so I didn't even have to politely pretend I wasn't looking at her stiff nipples. But suddenly her brazenness deserted her and she wrapped the robe closer about her.

"You left early, Adam, and I wanted to apologize for my poor behavior," she said. "I was…rude."

"Apology accepted but after a good night's sleep, I'd be more charitable toward you," I said. "Now, if that's it…" I started to close the door but Sibella put out her hand as if to stay it.

"You're leaving in the morning, aren't you?" She seemed anxious, looking down the hall.

Something was up – and not just me and the beginnings of a subtle erection that threatened to assert itself more aggressively—Sibella was scheming. "Yes. Early. Why?"

"Take me with you, will you?"

I chuckled. "No, Sibella, I won't, although it is an interesting prospect. Now, goodnight."

"Adam…please, may I step inside? I don't want my parents to know I'm here. Things are bad enough as it is."

"That's because you shouldn't be here, Sibella. You're just asking for trouble. Now, goodnight." I started to close the door again but Sibella protested.

"Please, Adam! I had a horrible argument with my parents and…may I come in?"

I sighed. I was tired and although she was a delicious sight, there was nothing I could do about it. But I stepped aside, motioning to indicate she should pass. I tightened the cord about my waist and waited. "Okay, talk."

"My mother wants me to marry – to be nothing more than a pious, submissive wife, only concerned with pleasing her husband and raising a passel of children. She says she's afraid for me, afraid that I'll be lonely, unfulfilled, never know the love of a man or the joys of motherhood…"

"I think all mothers, all parents worry about their child's happiness, their child's future. Your parents are no different than anyone else's, but I fail to see how this concerns me."

"Take me with you," she said. Sibella was obviously nervous, her voice breathy. "I think I'd be better off with you than Alan and if I stay, well she has plans for me."

Now I had to laugh and she quickly made signs I should hush.

"Look, if you want to run away from home, fine, but don't involve me, Sibella. Now if you don't mind, it's late…"

"My father said this evening that you needed a wife." She waited for my response.

I almost said that it was none of her father's goddamn business what I "needed" nor hers and that she needed to turn her firm little ass around and leave, or fall on my bed and spread her legs. I had no other use for her there in my room. But I considered that my first inclination wasn't the most diplomatic. And I realized that Sibella was calculating; she knew that we both were being pressured to marry and that we may be the answer to each other's dilemma. So, I spoke with measured words.

"I don't need a wife, but there are others who think it would confer respectability."

"I don't need a husband either but, well, if we married, then I could…well, I've been thinking about it for hours, how it would work to benefit us both – our marrying, that is. See, we could marry and then I'd be able to leave here and start a life of my own. You know, a married woman is far more respectable than a spinster. After a while, I could go to New York or Baltimore and work with, well, I think I'd like to work towards women's suffrage." She looked up at me, trembling with anticipation and excitement. "We could live separately since you don't love me nor I you - we could have separate lives…." Her voice drifted off.

"Quite the plan. And it is logical, I have to give you that. We marry, make everyone happy, and then live our separate lives and make ourselves happy. Is that it?"

"More or less." She seemed to have trouble taking a deep breath. "I wouldn't even need your money, that is, if you give me what my father would give to you. I mean you told my father that you didn't want to the money…" It seemed she suddenly felt she had revealed too much. Apparently, Mr. Atherton had filled her in on our conversation in his efforts to promote me as a husband. "My father thinks you would be a good husband in that you're older and wealthy and…It would make him happy if we would marry."

"Would it now? And that's your only reason for marrying, to make your parents happy. How magnanimous you are, Sibella. Willing to endure the stifling yoke of matrimony for a few thousands – hardly adequate payment, I would think." I moved closer and Sibella backed away, her eyes widening.

She began to talk nervously. "Marriage is a business transaction of sorts, isn't it? We give each other respectability and…and…stop laughing at me!"

I had been grinning; Sibella was a conniving little wench. "All right, Sibella," I said moving closer. She had to stop because she was pressed against the high wooden footboard. "You may have something there. We'll marry tomorrow before I leave – or should I say, we leave. What say you?"

"I…all right. All right, yes. We'll marry but this isn't how I pictured…"

"What?" I feigned shock. "Not how you thought it would go? Didn't I behave the way you expected? Let me guess." I was close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on my chest for that's only how tall she was. "Was I supposed to be overjoyed at the prospect of marrying you, to drop to my knees and propose and then cover your small, pale hand with kisses…like this." I picked up one hand and began to kiss it. She jerked it away.

"No, that's not…why do you always take everything I say and.."

"Was I supposed to kiss you, Sibella? Like this?" I have to admit that I thoroughly enjoyed pulling a trembling Sibella to me and kissing her, sweet, sweet mouth, gently forcing apart those lush, pink lips with my tongue, compelling them to open for me and they did; Sibella surrendered her mouth to me. And as I kissed her, she actually became limp in my arms, and it would have been so easy to lift her up and lay her down and take my pleasure. Oh, I was sorely tempted. But I didn't. I released her and when I did, her knees slightly buckled. I had to grab for her and hold her up.

"I need to go…" she said breathlessly, pulling her dressing gown more tightly closed, pushing her hair back from her face. "In the morning…we…I think I'll pack now – now." She hurried to the door and opened it. It was like watching a frightened wild deer run. Then she turned to me, her blue eyes wide. "This isn't a joke, is it? You're not going to laugh at me in the morning, are you?"

"No, Sibella, it's not a joke and I'm not going to laugh at you." She nodded, then raised a hand to her mouth and touched her swollen lips. Oh, my Sibella, I think that one gesture, you touching your violated mouth, won my heart. But I couldn't tell you then because I wasn't quite sure of it myself.

~ 0 ~

Sibella's mother wept at the news that her daughter was going to marry, that I had successfully asked for her hand. She kissed me on the cheek and patted my arm and then dabbed her eyes again but I felt she wished it were Alan who stood before her as her future son-in-law. But then I had doubts myself about the situation. I wondered just why I had agreed to marry Sibella.

"You've made me a very happy father, Adam!" Francis Atheron clapped me on the shoulder, smiling broadly and shaking my hand as if it was a pump handle. "Your own father will be as well – I know it. And as for the money I promised, I'll run to the bank and get a draft and also bring back the clerk of courts as well as the money. The ceremony can be performed right here. It's not the wedding of her mother's dreams, but it will serve. But before I go, let's celebrate with a drink, son."

He and I went into his office and raised a glass of his best whiskey to celebrate. I told him to have the draft made out to Sibella. He hesitated but agreed.

"You're going to be her husband and if you think it's best Sibella should have the money, I'll abide by your decision. But you know that old saying about a fool and his money? Well, a woman and her money are parted even quicker! You'll need to keep ahold of her purse-strings so she doesn't spend everything on new dresses, hats and gee-gaws."

While Mrs. Atherton and the cook, as well as the maids rushed about the house making celebratory arrangements, I left for town with Mr. Atherton; I had to change my ticket for a later stage and purchase one for Sibella as well. I promised Atherton I'd be back at the house by 11:00 so after a trip to the stage depot, I went to one of the saloons and had two beers and a few quick hands of poker with two men who may have been cardsharps. I lost and lost badly and any other time I probably could have caught them at their game, but I couldn't keep my mind on the cards; I kept thinking of Sibella and Donna who expected me to stop in Carson City, and wondering if I could juggle both women.

Anyway, I kept my word, was back at the house by 11:00, married and the proper forms signed by 11:20, and then we had the cake that the cook had managed to bake. The icing had mostly slid off the top because the cake was still slightly warm. Mrs. Atherton still quietly wept through the whole thing as did the cook and two of the three housemaids. The one called Sara who turned down my sheets and changed the towels in my room, winked at me and smiled slyly. Maybe she thought I'd like a quick lay before I took off with Sibella, and I would have, but thought better of it. I could just see Atherton walk in to tell me it was time to leave and I'd have Sara pinned against the wall, shaking the pictures with my thrusting. The consequences would be tragic - Sara would be fired.

Mr. Atherton gave me the generous draft made out to "Mrs. Sibella Victoria Cartwright" as I had requested. I stared at the name and it hit me that I had a wife. And a wealthy one at that. Then he talked at great length about how pleased he was and what life had been like once he married, about how children can be a mixed blessing. He acknowledged that Sibella could be obstinate and had certain progressive ideas she would lose soon enough once she became a mother. I pulled out my pocket watch and told him that it was time Sibella and I left for the depot; the stage would be pulling out in a little under an hour.

"Of course, of course, son." He patted me gingerly on the arm.

I was about to head up the stairs to bring down my valise when Mrs. Atherton called to me and I turned.

"Adam, I…I'm not sure how to say this to you…" She paused and then the words came out quickly. "I know you're more experienced than Sibella. She may talk as if she's sophisticated, but I've never really had a talk with her about marriage and the demands of a husband."

She sat down as if she couldn't stand anymore. "This isn't easy for me to talk about, but I hope…I love my daughter and I thought she and Alan would marry one day. Alan is such a fine young man and so lovely but she's chosen you and I understand why. I mean a handsome face and wealth and a certain attractive masculinity – don't misunderstand me, but even I'm aware of it. I've had to chastise Sara for lingering in your room far too long after cleaning it, in the hopes of your coming in while she's still there. Oh, she denied it, but I've watched her and she does have a reputation among the stable hands.

"And as for Sibella, you will be gentle with her, won't you? She's not like Sara – knowledgeable and such - and will be shocked to find out what happens on the wedding night and…I worry about her so. She's always pretended to be much stronger than she really is and I know that you don't love her…"

"Mrs. Atherton, I am fond of Sibella – believe that. And I promise to be kind to her. You don't have to worry. Of course, I hope you'll visit and see for yourself. And should things not work out between us, should Sibella be unhappy, well, she's financially independent and can return anytime she chooses or go anywhere she likes. She really doesn't need me for anything. Now don't worry so much although I know it's a mother's nature."

I reached out and took her hands, helping her from the chair. Then I leaned over and kissed her cheek. She looked up at me, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Thank you, Adam. Take care of my daughter. I may have spoiled and indulged Sibella, but I love her so."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

EIGHT

The trip home on the stage was uneventful. Another couple, about 10 years older than I, sat opposite us and Sibella chatted politely with the woman about things that didn't interest me in the least – and I'm surprised they interested her as it varied from recipes to fashions to the weather. And as I said, Sibella was polite – no statements made for shock value, no proselytizing about women's rights and the "soul-suffocating" institution of marriage. The husband was basically silent except when introduced, and I spent most of my time napping, or pretending to nap to avoid conversation, with my hat tilted down over my eyes. But I did hear the woman say they were going to Carson City and then to Elko; he had a job waiting in a bank. Traveling also was a man of indeterminate age with a long, unkempt beard that he stroked occasionally. He wore an old, beat-up hat and a gray corduroy trail coat with frayed seams and holes worn in the elbows. And he stank. The only person he talked to was himself.

We stopped at two waystations, one for dinner, and one for a pre-dawn breakfast of burned biscuits, undercooked fried potatoes and greasy sausage. Sibella refused to eat as did the other woman who wrinkled her nose in distaste. But Sibella did manage to get down some scorched coffee sweetened with sorghum. The station master, a tall, thin, anemic man, spat tobacco juice on the floor as he walked around the table refilling the coffee mugs. Sibella declined any more coffee by placing her palm over the mug.

"Sorry 'bout the food, ma'am. Know it ain't the best. My wife's been ill. That coughin' you hear is her in the back bedroom. Been havin' to do all the cookin' myself."

"Oh. I'm so sorry to hear about your wife. I hope she's better soon." Sibella offered her sympathy with a sad smile, and it appeared, at least to me, to be sincere. Maybe getting her away from her parents made her less abrasive and antagonistic.

"Oh, she won't be; she's dyin'. Had the doc out here two days ago and that's what he said. I'm just waitin' for it to happen. Got the grave dug already and the cross made."

Sibella looked at me, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. I just shrugged and with the edge of a "community" knife we all took turns sharing, scrapped the burned bottom of another biscuit. The food was bad but I was hungry and since there had been times in my past when both sides of my stomach met, I'd known near-starvation; I knew better than to decline food. And I wasn't particularly choosy as we wouldn't arrive in Virginia City for another seven or eight hours.

But after we had been on the road again for a few minutes, Sibella said to me, "Did you hear what that man said, Adam? His wife is dying and he doesn't care."

"You don't know he doesn't care," I replied. I didn't want to have a conversation; I never like to talk on public conveyances.

"Yes, I do - by what he said. He's just waiting for her to die."

"What else can he do but wait? What do you expect him to do? Hurry her along?"

"No, of course not, that's not what I meant at all. But is that any way to talk about the woman you love? He already has the grave dug."

"What does it matter, Sibella, if he dug the grave early or dug it after she died; she'd still need the grave and he'd still have to dig it. And what business is it of ours anyway?"

"It's just that it proves what I said about marriage, about how it's an outdated concept. People are married for years and don't love each other. Then feel nothing when their spouse dies. He was so cold the way he talked about her – as if he didn't care at all."

"Don't judge people so quickly. You have no idea what he was feeling." Then I slouched and pulled my hat down to nap. I was truly tired. Sibella had slept through the night leaning against me with my arm about her. It hadn't been unpleasant though and as we moved through the darkness, I often looked down at her face, so very beautiful in repose, and wondered what went on in her head, what she really thought of me and the turn of events. But then I wasn't sure what I really thought.

I always try to be honest with myself. Therefore, I acknowledge my many faults. I tend to be selfish about sharing my feelings, but exactly how I felt about Sibella and our marriage of convenience, I wasn't sure myself because they changed from hour to hour. Gazing down at her, it struck me that I was actually married. I don't mean to sound foolish – I knew I was married – but it hadn't sunk it that this lovely girl – I had difficulty seeing Sibella as a woman – was my wife and if I chose to bed her, I could. It was my right as her husband. Legally, her body was mine. But did I love her?

I remember my father once telling me when I was morose over a girl who had thrown me over, that love is difficult to define and even harder to recognize. I remember him saying, "When we're young – and even not so young - oftentimes we think we're in love and we're not really – it's just what's called…physical attraction. But that type of 'love' doesn't last; people age and change and each day, the person you love changes just as you do. What you might find physically attractive now, in a year or two – won't matter. And trust me, Adam you'll get over Janie. It's more your pride that's been hurt than anything else." At the time, his advice meant nothing to me. I just wanted Janie Watson to take me back and let me kiss her while on her family's porch swing. I wasn't even concerned with the next week so much as the next day, or whether or not I would still yearn for Janie after I had my way; I just wanted her to prefer me to Carl Reagan who was squiring her about – and more than likely kissing her and probably doing even more - knowing Carl like I did. But as I became older, I thought back on that talk and finally saw the truth in what my father said.

But that still didn't explain my agreeing to marry Sibella – not to myself. It would take time for me to work through my motives and desires, and I disliked dredging up feelings and examining them – I never liked what I saw.

A little before dusk, we finally pulled into the Virginia City depot and my father was waiting. Back in Sacramento City, after buying our tickets and checking the arrival time, I'd sent him a brief wire letting him know I was bringing a "guest" home. That the guest was his new daughter-in-law, I decided should be revealed face to face.

I climbed out and shook my father's hand.

"Glad you're home, son."

"Glad to be home."

I turned to help Sibella step down onto the platform. She looked up from under her hat and politely put out her gloved hand.

"Hello, Mr. Cartwright. My father's always talked so highly of you that I'm glad to finally meet you."

I stood alongside them and suppressed a smile while waiting for Sibella's luggage; her mother was having the rest of her things sent by freight.

"Miss Sibella Atherton! I should have known! You do favor your father a about the eyes! What a joy to have you here. Can you stay for a good, long visit?"

"Well…yes, I mean…." Sibella looked up at me. "You didn't tell him? I thought you said you wired him."

"Tell me what?" The smile left my father's face. "Adam, what haven't you told me? Was something wrong with the gift? Is someone ill?"

"No, no, Mr. Cartwright! The jade necklace is lovely and I would have written to let you know how much I treasure it, but I'm here before the note could have been. It's about Adam and me…" Her voice drifted off and she turned her eyes on me again. "Adam?"

"Well, Pa, Sibella and I are married." The thud of one of Sibella's trunks hitting the planks of the sidewalk drew my attention. I turned toward it and my father grabbed my arm.

"Adam , if you're…if this is your idea of a joke… ."

"Not a joke, Pa. We were married yesterday morning. Say hello to your daughter-in-law. I need to load her trunks into the buggy." The second trunk and my valise were noisily dropped onto the sidewalk.

Sibella blushed; apparently, she was embarrassed by the situation, but I didn't see any reason why she should be. We were married and all was legal.

My father, for once, lost his equanimity, seemed unsure what to do or say, but finally, his intrinsic nobility took over and he smiled and taking one of Sibella's small hands in both of his large ones, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Welcome to the family, my dear. You've made me a very happy man."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Some graphic, descriptive language. Be warned in case you have delicate sensibilities. And keep in mind that this is an older Adam who has been through the Civil War and all its horrors and has experienced a great deal of personal, emotional loss in his lifetime.**

NINE

If I believed in reincarnation, I'm sure my father would have been a knight whose armor shone brightly in the sun and who went about the countryside rescuing fair maids from dastardly villains and a dragon or two. I suppose, at that time, he viewed me as a dragon.

I took the reins of the buggy, one of Sibella's trunks beside me on the seat, and my father sat in the back with Sibella, talking about her father and their old friendship, asking her about her birthday party and her schooling in France. I learned quite a bit about Sibella on that ride to the Ponderosa. Her schooling had been conservative on the whole, and had a religious bent of sorts, but her "mentor" was the art teacher Mademoiselle Henri who, according to Sibella, was a "Bohȇme," a Bohemian with radical views on women in the arts and sciences and life in general. According to Sibella, a few chosen students were invited by Mademoiselle Henri for tea and madeleines. In the teacher's sitting room, they were told of the horrors of marriage for a woman, the required subservience to the vices and perverted desires of their husbands, and how women were treated as property – men treated their cows and pigs better than they treated their wives! At least them they didn't beat!

I almost laughed as my father quickly agreed that some men did mistreat their wives but no Cartwright would; his sons had been brought up to respect women and to treat all people well. I'm sure he eben patted her hand reassuringly.

Sibella, realizing her misandry may have shocked or alienated her new father-in-law, said she was sure that was true. Then after an awkward pause, my father asked if she had a nice trip and Sibella, in relief, I'm sure, eagerly told him all about it.

I had to smile thinking of a wide-eyed, young Sibella in pigtails and a school uniform, listening to such propaganda from a woman she admired. No wonder she held the views she did. But she had been back home for at least 4 years and should have seen that Miss Henri's views may have been biased somewhat. But then what do I know about a young girl's heart and mind. Even today, Sibella still surprises me.

After we had been married for a few months, once while talking in bed, Sibella revealed with a naughty look in her lovely blue eyes, that she once posed nude for the art class. It had been cool in the studio with the dormer window open and she told me how embarrassed she was when her nipples hardened. And thn she said she blushed even more when her teacher suggested she loosen her thighs and show the hair that curled over her privates – after all, they were all female. She obliged, and suddenly felt free from any confining boundaries. And the finished paintings of her altered her views as she hadn't realized until then just how beautiful the naked body can be.

Her little story and the image of her spreading her legs ever so temptingly to a room full of eager young female artists had excited me. I turned her over on the sheets, propped her on her knees, pushed her gown up and took from behind, enjoying the view of myself and her "privates". But I'm ahead of myself – this was after Sibella decided she was going to enjoy her 'subservient" position underneath me. And that allowing me to have my way with her wasn't necessarily unpleasant.

We pulled up in the yard and Hop Sing, Hoss and Joe came out to meet the "guest." I left the introductions to my father while I unloaded the luggage. But I kept my eye on Sibella.

"Why, Adam," Hoss said, coming to help me with the bigger trunk, "whyn't you tell us you done went and got hitched? And to such a pretty one."

"You know now? What difference would a day have made? She'd still be pretty and you'd still be…" For some reason I stopped from insulting Hoss by telling him he'd still be "ugly." Suddenly I didn't want to be cruel although Hoss usually took such jibes in stride. "Take this trunk and put it in the back guest room, would you?. That room gets the afternoon sun and Sibella can sleep late. And tell Joe to take in the smaller one. My valise is full of dirty clothes – would you see Hop Sing gets it."

"Why can't you take care of things? I mean I don't mind helpin', but…"

"Just do it for me, would you? I'm bone-tired."

"Sure, Adam. But anythin' else I can do to make your life easier? After all, Joe and me, we live to serve you. How 'bout us spendin' the weddin' night with your bride? Maybe you ain't got the energy for that neither and she'd probably like us better."

I grinned and patted his cheek. "I have the energy, I just don't have the time right now. But it would take both of you to equal one of me."

Hoss chuckled at the retort but then turned sober. "I don't know much 'bout women but leavin' her alone on your first night…well, she's your wife." He called Joe over to help him with the trunks.

Hop Sing was telling "Missy" to come in and "fresh-up" because dinner would be on the table in ten minutes.

"Very fine meal – just for you. Hop Sing make roast turkey – very crisp skin! Cook fresh beans from garden – make tasty with salt pork. Mashed potatoes, gravy, fresh biscuits, butter – all good food just for you. And Mistah Cartwright, him get good bottle of wine from cellar!" He grinned broadly and Sibella thanked him but turned to look for me from the porch.

Already I sensed her moods and knew she was anxious, unsure of herself. My father stood with her, telling Hop Sing they'd be in in a minute. And then I behaved like the cold-hearted sonovabitch I am.

"Sibella, I told Hoss to put your…"

Hoss and Joe passed us then, and Joe shot me a nasty look. I don't know if it was because he had to carry the trunk across his shoulders and up the stairs like a pack mule, or because I was putting Sibella in a guest room, but he glared at me. I waited until they passed. Sibella looked up at me with desperation and my father furrowed his brow. He had dressed in his best black suit to meet the "guest" and with the disapproving look he gave me, he looked like a stern pastor confronting a sinner.

"Sibella, I told Hoss and Joe to put your things in the back…room. You'll be more comfortable there."

My father chimed in. "Adam, I think that's a good idea. It's bigger and you two should…"

"Look, I have to leave - I have some immediate business in Carson City."

"What?" Sibella turned pale. "Now?"

"I didn't expect to get married and bring you home, remember? It's important business and if it's concluded too late, I'll spend the night in Carson City. Pa, tell Hop Sing not to save me a plate. I have to go." I kissed Sibella's smooth cheek, avoiding her eyes – I couldn't bear the hurt look.

I headed to the barn to saddle my horse, the buggy still standing in the yard with the horse still hitched; I wanted to leave and get the picture of Sibella's face, her eyes beginning to fill with tears, out of my head. But what did she expect of me? Her proposal came with the idea that we would live our own lives and go our separate ways. There were things to consider such as, what if I fell in love with her – desperately, passionately – and she left me to work for women's suffrage in New York or anywhere else. What then? Right now I was inured to her but if I took her, buried myself in her soft body, clutched that firm ass as I moved inside her, tasted the sweet juices of her cunt, what would happen then if she left me? I didn't even want to consider the consequences. But as I expected, my father hurried after me to the barn.

"Adam, can't you wait until tomorrow?"

"No, Pa," I answered, leading my horse out of its stall. "And it's really none of your business." I continued saddling my horse and he stood silently, watching. "All right, Pa - out with it."

"Okay. You're a grown man and you can conduct yourself anyway you like, carry on howsoever you choose. But you now have a wife and while I admit she seems a bit…unsophisticated, she's still your wife. You're leaving her and going off to see that woman and I think, to put it in the mildest terms, selfish and cruel of you. I'm ashamed of you. And that's all I have to say." He turned and walked back t the house. And I finished saddling my horse.

Donna was pleased to see me, kissing me and taking my arm and pulling me into her well-furnished suite I paid for. She helped me off with my boots, socks, and suit which I Informed her I had slept in.

"You poor, darling. Let me get your robe while you take off your shirt. Then I'll get you some wine." She turned and smiled at me and added, "You'll sleep far more comfortably tonight – I guarantee."

Not to go into details, but the sex was familiar and comfortable and all I had to do was lay back and enjoy her ministrations; Donna did earn her keep. But in the back of my mind, the woman I imagined riding me, was Sibella. I didn't know why I kept thinking of her, but I did and she was there with me the whole time. It was…disconcerting and I felt as if I was only playing a part with Donna; nothing was spontaneous.

Although I slept a bit with Donna asleep beside me, I woke after a few hours and considered my situation. I had a beautiful, virginal wife at the Ponderosa and maybe she would grow to love me and I could win her heart. I knew that Sibella could easily win mine as I was halfway there already. And what a bastard I had been to leave her alone on what should have been our wedding night. And then I confronted it - I was afraid.

The realization was like being slapped in the face. I said that I try to be honest with myself and through those dark hours, I admitted to myself that I was afraid of taking the risk, afraid of the pain that often comes with any intimate relationship. I was afraid Sibella might reject me, make a comment about wanting a younger lover. What if she refused me when I approached her? And then my breath caught in my throat; Sibella might even be gone by the time I returned even though her father's draft was still in my suit pocket. What if she had left me already? My father wouldn't be able to deny her assistance in leaving such a cad of a husband. What would I do then?

I knew what I would do if she was gone; I would make a joke of it, say something along the line that she only wanted to get away from her family and that I just played a part. I couldn't admit to a broken heart – or at this early point, would it be like so long ago with Janie Watson – just injured pride id she left me.

And what the hell was I thinking when I married Sibella anyway, when I put myself in that position to feel anything? I thought I was through with all that, that I was numb to feelings like that. Hadn't I suffered enough loss in my life? I couldn't bear another punch in the gut, so to speak. And was I willing to place myself at the mercy of another person, put my joy or misery in the hands of a 21 year old girl?

I knew what I had to do. I had to take a chance on Sibella and our marriage. I had seen that she could be compassionate and I knew from her conversation with Alan that she was fearful of intimacy. I would be kind and gentle with her. When I went home, we would start fresh. I would apologize for leaving her and going to Carson City but my business there was now concluded. And she would smile, perhaps shed a few tears. And I would tell her to pack a small bag. We would spend the next few nights in the Palace Hotel in Virginia City and if we chose, go to the jewelers and design a special ring for her. She was wearing a ring given by her mother as something old and it needed replacing with something new Sibella would be overjoyed and kiss me, throw those sweet arms about my neck and kiss me more and maybe tell me she loved me. And even if she didn't, love would come eventually. I was sure of it.

But Donna was a problem. I couldn't just abandon her. I would give her a large bank draft and some stock in the Cartwright mining business as consolation. We had found a new vein of silver in the main mine and in another, copper. The copper was actually bringing in more profits than the silver now that copper gas lines were being installed in all new construction and many older buildings were being retrofitted. All in all, that seemed the best solution in dealing with a mistress who needed to be gently discarded.

Once a thin line of morning light knifed in between the pulled drapes, I sat up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. Donna moved and then I felt a hand on my shoulder as she moved behind me.

"What are you doing awake this early? Didn't you sleep well?" She rested her head against my back and slipped her arms about me. "Come back to bed. It must be only a little after six."

I disentangled her arms and stood up. "No, I have to get back. I need to set up some legal provisions." I walked over to the window and opened the heavy drapes. I could see the street below and a few people were out, taking care of their own business.

Donna lay back down and stretched with her eyes closed. She sighed and I was tempted. "Oh, Adam. Why waste that piss-proud hardness? Put it to good use – on me." She opened her eyes and looked at me, a smile on her face.

I had to chuckle. I think any man who had a pulse and a prick would have jumped on her but Sibella's sad, sweet face rose up before me like a specter. Damn, Sibella was ruining everything. So, I just used the chamber pot and Donna murmured about it being such a waste. And while pulling on my trousers, I told Donna that I had married two days ago in Sacramento City.

"And you're here with me. Obviously, it can't be a love match." She pulled on a dressing gown and came about to help me with my trouser buttons. "Is she wealthy?"

"Actually, she is, but that's not why I married her. But it doesn't matter why, just that I am. And that makes my relationship with you problematic."

"If you think I'll say anything…"

"No, I don't think you would. It's really about…" I considered what I could say that didn't make me sound like a sentimental, provincial fool. "Look, Donna." I sat down on the bed to pull on my boots and something in the plush carpet glinted in the sunlight. Puzzled, I walked over and bent down to pick up a man's silver cufflink – and it wasn't mine.

I started to laugh as I looked at it in my hand. It had an unknown man's initials engraved into the flat surface - MJK.

"What's so funny? What did you find, Adam? What is it?"

I was still chuckling and flattened my palm. Donna stared at the cufflink, blanching with horror. "Oh, Adam, I can explain…you see…"

Grinning, I handed the cufflink to her. "You don't have to explain anything. See that he gets back his cufflink. Having only one is like having a single ballock; works better in pairs. Actually, this makes everything so much easier." I pulled on my white shirt, quickly buttoning it and rolling up the sleeves. I slipped my own gold cufflinks in my pants' pocket.

"But, Adam – it's not what you think. An old friend of mine stopped by for a visit and he just wanted to relax so he…"

I held Donna by her upper arms, shushing her. "Donna, it doesn't matter and just to show there are no bad feelings, I'll send you a nice-sized draft for your old age. I hope you make many new friends, Donna, many, many of them." I folded my jacket over my arm and picked up my hat. "And now I'll say goodbye. Take care of yourself." I gave a slight bow and left, still grinning.

The livery owner grumbled when I woke him to saddle my horse, since I usually didn't leave that early. But he smiled widely enough when I paid him the dollar for keeping and feeding my horse overnight, and an extra silver dollar for his trouble. He thanked me profusely and waved me off.

I probably grinned the whole ride home. I no longer had to worry about turning stock shares over to Donna and the probable argument with my father, nor did I have to worry about Donna. I'd like to say Providence showed me the way but it was just an unknown man's fumbling fingers with a small piece of jewelry. I only briefly wondered who he was, but not for long. The sun was rising and soon I'd be home with Sibella. Sweet-tasting Sibella. I hoped I could refrain from spiriting her upstairs and taking her right then and there.

I kicked my horse and my heart soared; I was in love, actually in love and I found I wasn't afraid to be; it did take some courage to open your heart to another but I was ready. I hoped Sibella was too as I saw a glorious adventure ahead for both of us.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

TEN

I flipped my horse's reins over the hitching rail and looked at the house with new eyes – the way Sibella might view it – and saw how well-built and imposing the Ponderosa was. The day was going to be glorious, the breeze, cool, like the breath of an angel. Clouds scudded across a clear sky and as Browning said, "God's in His heaven, all's right with the world." I smiled thinking how Iwould go inside, sweep Sibella up into my arms, kiss her lovely mouth and tell her I loved her. I didn't expect her to respond in kind – after all she was inexperienced, but she would know how I felt. I had rehearsed my words and anticipated Sibella's face going from near-tears to a beaming smile of happiness. But I tend to underestimate the women I've loved – or overestimate my draw for them. Anyway, I was ready to win over my new wife's heart. But instead of Sibella coming out to meet me, it was Hoss who rushed out of the house and onto the porch with a worried look.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Adam, I swear to you – Joe and me – we didn't know Sibella was sittin' there listenin' or we never woulda…"

Sibella came out, her face stiff. Hoss, seeing her, stepped back inside and shut the door but not before saying to me, "Joe and me, we're sorry, Adam."

Sibella stood in silence, slightly trembling. "Sibella, what's wrong? Hoss just…" And then she slapped me with all her strength. Now I've been punched by men who hit like a mule kicks and I've been worked over by a few thugs in my time but that slap stung my pride like a hive of bees. "You get one," I said, my voice a low threat, raising one finger. "One - and that was it."

Sibella, her hands in fists by her side, practically spat, "I know where you've been! I know about your 'woman' in Carson City - your whore!"

"Well, what did you think I did for sex? Diddle the heifers?" And then Sibella slapped me again. I grabbed her by the arm, propped a foot on one of the chairs, turned Sibella over my knee and walloped her. My hand came down on her sweet ass - I don't know how many times. She struggled and yowled and I became angrier and angrier. She hadn't even given me a chance to make amends. And then my father came rushing out of the house.

"Adam, what are you doing? Adam, stop….Adam! Adam!"

I continued to smack Sibella, feeling her buttocks tighten beneath my hand with each smack; the light dress she was wearing, didn't provide much padding.

"Adam! That's enough!" My father stood on the other side of me and I looked at his face. His expression of shock stayed my hand. I returned Sibella to her feet and her face was as red with embarrassment as I imagine her ass was.

"I hate you!" She shouted, rubbing her backside. "I wish I'd never married you! I hope you fall off your horse and break your neck or get trampled to death in a stampede!' Bursting into tears, she ran into the house.

"Adam, what was all that about?" My father waited, his hands on his hips.

I was breathing heavily – partly from exertion and partly from fury. All my plans for our happiness had been destroyed by that little bitch. "I was going to…it doesn't matter what it's about, Pa." I pulled off my jacket and threw it over the chair, composing myself. "I'm going to take care of my horse."

My father grabbed my arm. "You better take care of your wife. Sibella found out about Donna. No one told her. Last evening, she was at the desk writing her parents when she overheard Hoss and Joe talking on the porch. They were playing checkers out here and the window was open and Sibella heard them talking about you and Carson City and Donna. It wasn't intentional, but, Adam, you never should have gone."

"I know that now, Pa, but it's a little late for self-reproach, isn't it?"

"If you apologize to Sibella, I'm sure she'll…"

"Pa, please! I know you mean well but this is my business. Whether you're ashamed of me or not for having a mistress or for spanking Sibella, I have to tend to my own peccadilloes in the best way I know." I started to walk away but wheeled about to face him. "And what I was going to tell Sibella is that I've cut off my relationship with Donna. But I guess now it doesn't matter. Actually, it looks as if I may even regret doing it. Maybe I will have to start diddling the stock."

My father looked confused at my last comment; I guess he hadn't been eavesdropping on my conversation with Sibella; he's more honorable than I would have been in the same situation,

Finally, after tending my horse and putting him away, I was up in my room and able to wash those parts that needed it and shave off my almost three days' growth. Before the razor cleared away the bristles, I resembled a highwayman – an intimidating one, at that. As I went through the usual actions of washing and shaving, my mind was roiling. I should have known better than to expect a happy resolution – read too much poetry and worst of all, I was actually a romantic at heart. Despite all my failed relationships with the "gentler" sex, I yearned for love, not so much for someone to love, but for someone to love me. A little pathetic, in my opinion, but I think all men – perhaps all women as well - yearn to be loved.

I suppose my father would say that it was because I had never really had the love of a mother for any substantial length of time and searched for it in every woman I met. But trust me, I never wanted to fuck any of my stepmothers like I did the women I met, although had I been older, I might have considered Marie, Joe's mother, if she'd been so inclined.

I was getting dressed, buttoning up a workshirt when a knock – more like someone pounding on my door, drew my attention. I opened it and beheld Sibella, a cross between a scowl and a pout on her beautiful face. She was dressed in a dark blue traveling suit that brought out the color of those beautiful eyes of hers.

"I'm leaving you," she said. "Hoss is taking me into town and I just wanted to tell you that. I'm going home to my parents for the time being. And as for the money my father gave you, my dowry, I suppose it's yours to keep but it would be gentlemanly of you to return it."

I laughed – derisively, of course. I decided that I wouldn't yet tell her that the draft was made out to her. "You can call it a dowry if it makes you feel better, I'd call it a bribe but I'll gladly give it back to you."

"And how much money did it take for you to marry me?"

I could see her anger building and I have to admit I enjoyed aggravating her. "Sibella, your father doesn't have enough money for that."

"Oh, you…you…" Sibella raised her hand to slap me, I raised an eyebrow, and her hand fell back down to her side. "Why then did you marry me?"

"Why, you asked me, Sibella. At the time, it seemed rude to decline."

"OH!" She tried to slap me again but I caught her hand.

"Oh, Sibella, you shouldn't have done that." I pulled her into my room and pushed the door shut. She fought me, struggling to get away and called me various names – names that would have made her mother faint dead away had she heard. And again, Sibella said she hated me. I sat down on the side of my bed and pulled Sibella over my knee and tossed up her skirts. Her ass was as round as a peach and when I pulled down her pantalets, despite her desperate kicking and attempts to cover herself with her small hands, I saw that delightful split. And then she stopped struggling; I'm sure she could feel my hardness poking her belly – enough to give her pause to reconsider her situation.

My hand came down hard on her tender skin and she started howling again but I didn't stop until her buttocks were red. Then I stood her up and she looked like a naughty child having been spanked for stealing cookies before dinner, her pantalets having fallen about her ankles, her hair halfway tumbled down about her shoulders, tears on her face.

"Well," I said, "now you have even more reason to hate me."

Sibella stood before me, not moving, not speaking and then, suddenly, she threw herself onto me, knocking me backwards on the bed, and covered my face with kisses. I could taste the salty tears on her lips as I responded and within a few minutes, she and I were rolling half-naked on my bed, her white pantalets still hanging from one ankle like a flag of surrender, as her legs wrapped about my waist. And thus, after what, as a boy, I called a good tanning, Sibella lost her virginity and I had a wife.

We spent hours in that room that afternoon, and I showed Sibella the varied ways a man and a woman could satisfy and please one another. I suppose a poet might say I "ravished" her and I did. She cried out at some things I did, her back arching in pleasure, and moaned at others, twisting the sheets with her hands. I luxuriated in the sensations of her sweet mouth on my prick as she practiced pleasing me and she seemed almost intoxicated when she kissed me afterward. We wallowed in the delight we found with one another and finally, we were sated – at least for a few hours. And when I told my Sibella I loved her, she lay her head on my chest, hugged me, and swore she loved me and wanted me from the moment she saw me in her mother's parlor. Then she bit one of my nipples and I reached down and smacked that rosy ass again.

Suffice it to say, Sibella and I are very pleased with one another and after a year and a half of burying myself up to my balls in her every chance I had, she's with child. My father is delirious with joy. This will be his first grandchild. Seems that Joe and Jessica Moritz were no longer an item; as soon as she agreed to marry him, Joe couldn't seem to back away fast enough.

And I discovered something very important; what makes good sex is not necessarily love, not necessarily even technique, but heat, passion. And Sibella realizes it too, so every so often, she'll get a mischievous look in those lovely blue eyes, twitch that shapely ass in my face and then start an argument. I, of course, then pull her over my knee, smack her exposed ass and then we have sex – great sex. And who could ask for more? And if this isn't a romantic ending, well, I don't know what the hell is.

~ Finis ~


End file.
